


Midas

by VictoriannWings



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erwin Week, Grief, Guilt, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, King Midas - Freeform, Love, M/M, Unconditional Love, character sketch, eruri - Freeform, gold - Freeform, snk 84, stone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriannWings/pseuds/VictoriannWings
Summary: That was his role: they understood it between them. Levi said goodbye, but Erwin carried every name and face with him, another soul condemned for the good of humanity, another sacrifice made in vain, another child sent to his death for Erwin Smith's dreams to become a reality. ---Eruri, Erwin centric.





	

Some nights Levi woke in a cold bed, darkness pressing in on him; and if he dared press back, he'd rise and discover Erwin's broad shoulders hunched over his candlelit desk, hands flying across the page, dark circles under manic eyes. Eyes that captured dying candlelight like fire, ablaze and terrifying, useful but dangerous. Caught in a tornado, Erwin's tall body was bent in half, as if trying to reach his ideas there on the page, frenzied words spilling out from creaky hands that couldn't move fast enough. 

Most nights Levi found him like this, he'd beg for him to rest, and Erwin would often refuse, barely noticing Levi, until soft lips on his neck convinced him to retire, where Levi enjoyed Erwin's warmth, and Erwin whispered of his plans, of the Survey Corps' future, of the titans, defeating the world outside the walls. He painted pictures in the darkness, described ideas and plans and designs, some of them achievable, some of them inadequate and forming, all of them shining bright in Erwin's eyes with hope. Humanity had a chance, Levi thought, as long as this man still had ambition and drive. As long as this man was who he was: devoted and inspired, a thousand potential lives all forced into this man, his man. 

And as the speeches unfurled forth from Erwin's lips, sometimes the tones changed: plans weren't finished, casualties were high, not enough weapons, not enough funding, not enough soldiers willing to die for humanity. Levi's chest ached as he watched the shadows flicker across the Commander's face. Hope shaded it in gray sadness, made him look older in the moonlight. This man, with his ambition and ideals, with his drive and sleep deprivation and determination, had so much guilt. Guilt lined his movements, made his limbs heavy; Levi could feel the weighted chains on Erwin's wrists when his lover touched him. He saw when Erwin thought he was asleep, the Commander whispered the names of the dead in his waking moments. 

And he whispered them in his dreams. Levi often couldn't sleep; maybe it was growing up in the Underground where anything could pounce and vigilance was a necessity, but he'd never been able to sleep consistently. So he watched as Erwin ran himself until he passed out, holding Levi against his chest, or slack with fatigue beside the smaller man, his lips moving to pronounce names forgotten by everyone but him. 

If it grew worse, though, Levi woke Erwin up, pretending instead that he needed his lover himself, and mouth to mouth he taught him ways to forget, exploring every bittersweet line and curve of Erwin's body, made it arch in ecstasy, writhe in pleasure. Levi wanted nothing than to make the love of his life happy, and in those moments, Erwin was on top of the world. 

They returned from missions with dirt and blood caking their limbs and fewer faces than before. After his speeches and reports and paperwork and morale boosting, Erwin disappeared, for hours sometimes. Levi spent his moments waiting for Erwin, bathing and preparing, performing his own duties. Seeing to the injured and saying goodbye to the dead. 

That was his role: they understood it between them. Levi said goodbye, but Erwin carried every name and face with him, another soul condemned for the good of humanity, another sacrifice made in vain, another child sent to his death for Erwin Smith's dreams to become a reality. 

The ghosts haunted his blue eyes and Levi swore they grew paler by the day.

So Levi said goodbye for him. He arranged the funeral pyres, helped Erwin address letters of condolence, shipped off cadet belongings to grieving families.

And at the end of the day, Levi went to find him. The Commander, always in the public eye, always brave, disappeared after missions. And many times, despite searching for hours, Levi was unsuccessful in locating him, and sat in silence staring into his mug of tea while Hange chattered in his ears.

Erwin slipped wordlessly into bed that evening and Levi didn't turn to face him; a warm, strong arm draped across his side, and without looking at him, Levi accepted his touch. He was never sure if missions brought them closer together, or took Erwin farther away from him. 

_Which walls are we fighting, Erwin? Yours or the titans'?_

Sometimes he couldn't help feeling like the Commander was turning to stone before his very eyes.

Sometimes he felt like if Erwin looked at him too long, Levi would become stone as well. But Erwin praised him, lifted him up in the public eye: Captain Levi, Humanity's Strongest, a force unknown, and on days when they returned from the Capital, Levi felt used, something wanted but never attained, and this time it was his turn to disappear for hours, knees to his chest on a rooftop in the wind until twilight faded to darkness faded to stars, and the bed was always empty and cold when he finally retired.

Erwin might be turning to stone but he was turning Levi to gold: desired, fought over, and even when you have it, it's not enough. Levi could never be enough for Erwin's golden touch. 

And yet sometimes Erwin could be soft. Sometimes he smiled, or laughed, or greeted Levi with tenderness and affection, eyes warm, the wildfire turned down to a cool simmer, and those were the nights Levi knew he was closest to Erwin. 

The other nights Levi knew were the days that all the ghosts Erwin carried on his shoulders poured forth through welled up eyes and spilled, gushing, staining him, staining Levi, and the Captain held his Commander while he cried, sobbed, great shoulders shaking, eyes paling with grief and guilt. 

This world required too much of this great stone statue.

And Erwin was the most lifelike statue Levi had ever seen--chiseled, carved, perfected by his own hand. Every angle, curve, and corner specially designed to maintain his image. Erwin Smith, 13th Commander of the Survey Corps. Brilliant, young, determined. Inventive, inspiring, merciful, merciless. 

Nobody ever saw anything Erwin didn't want them to see; Levi often wondered if he was even real around him. But every time Erwin touched him, his insides turned to gold and nothing mattered anymore. He was buried treasure found, gleaming in the sunlight, cold metal turned warm by his lover's fingertips.

Some nights the statue came alive and his warm skin slid against Levi's, his single hand gliding across his side, across his chest, aching for him. "I need you," Erwin whispered in the shadows, and his lips searched, sought, kissing Levi in all the right places, and then they were one, clinging to each other for comfort, in understanding, bittersweet caresses, as close to happy as Levi had ever been, as Erwin had ever been: together. 

That was all Levi could think of, holding that syringe above Erwin's lone arm, bare and vulnerable beneath his fingers. His heart crushed, unable to beat, Levi could barely breathe. And when Armin rose before him, mighty and terrifying, Levi couldn't see past anything but Erwin's face: the final face of a statue that had been carved a thousand times over until it had become its final masterpiece, frozen, wild blue eyes empty and dark, face still, the infamous mask slack and cold.

Levi couldn't help feeling like this was not the man he'd loved and protected and held while he cried. 

This was not the face of a demon battling hell. This...

He leaned forward and closed soft eyelids over those pale, pale eyes to keep the ghosts in. 

Maybe they could rest too, now.


End file.
